


Purpose

by Grichway



Series: Purpose [1]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Eldritch, Gore, M/M, Not nsfw (yet?), etc - Freeform, idk what else to tag this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 05:18:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6598312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grichway/pseuds/Grichway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Executioner finds his job done. The Vileblood Queen lies nothing more that a withering pulp, a testament to the dedication of the Executioner's and their purpose. Now, he questions himself. Is there another purpose to find, or is he to commit himself to the fate of his teacher? Perhaps he's found a purpose renewed among a star-touched Hunter whose eyes sing of the cosmos? Perhaps, most of all, he needs rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> WOW This was super fun to write. I dunno what else to say, but totally expect more and follow me on tumblr for more updates about this work! Also, the next chapters will be a lot longer than this one, I promise
> 
> cleric-beasts.tumblr.com

 

        Alfred trembled. The blood had seeped through the executioner’s garb by this point, and the chill of the air in Cainhurst penetrated his bones. The Hunter had kept his distance for a time, watching the man. Alfred had already removed the ardeo from his head, his eyes glossy and forlorn. The Hunter took a few steps forward, placing a hand on the executioner’s shoulder. He squeezed the man’s shoulder gently, feeling the fleshy remnants of his execution that still clung to his robe. “Alfred,” he spoke, peering at the man through the visor of his choir hat. “She’s gone. You killed her, and with her the Vilebloods are dead.”

          The executioner turned to face his faithful friend, his face unmarred by the destruction of the Vileblood queen. He tilted his head, the golden locks on his head dipping into the blood drenching his robes. His face was almost distraught. “I… have done my duty. As an executioner.” A faint glimmer sparked through his eyes as realization came to him. “As a martyr.” The Hunter’s hand dropped from Alfred’s shoulder, scraping away some of the gory mess left from his last kill. The Hunter shook his head, pulling the hat and its visor away from his face to let his tangled mess of black hair fall into his face.

          The Hunter’s eyes are a pale blue, reflective only of the truth that he had seen in the dream. It unsettled Alfred to his core – even just a glimpse of what was beyond the placid lakes of The Hunter’s eyes was enough to set him on edge. The Hunter’s hands reached up, cradling either side of the man’s face and forcing him to stare into the eyes of a man who had seen the eldritch truth. The Hunter’s face was twisted into one of curiosity and perhaps pity. “Don’t forsake that.” Something in the eyes of The Hunter told Alfred he could believe him – that he somehow knew the course of fate that was lain out before them. That it would be alright. But faith, too, was a nagging force in the executioner’s stomach. It writhed inside of him, befouled and wretched as any Vileblood could have ever been. The Executioner opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself as he stared farther into The Hunter’s eyes. Past The Hunter’s eyes and into something more. Something beyond his comprehension that had scarred The Hunter’s very presence in this world.

          It was The Hunter whose voice broke the silent trance between the two. “I can’t make you do anything, Alfred.” He dropped his hands from the executioner’s face and replaced his visor. His voice was calm as it had ever been, tone soft and warm. “Neither can false idols or sycophantic beliefs. Think about this before you do anything, Alfred.” The Hunter turned to walk away, stopping before the door and looking off at the moon in the distance. He scowled a bit, turning again to face Alfred. “You know where to find me if you work through this. I’ll be waiting.” He gave a resolute nod, disappearing off into the snow.

          Alfred was left behind, pondering what to do. He looked at the bloody pulp that was left of the Vileblood Queen with a look of disgust. He hated her. Hated everything that she had stood for, and hated the progeny of her kind. What would he do, now that they were gone? Perhaps he should seek out The Hunter and deny the calling that his beliefs held. Deny the inevitable fate that all executioners, and thus, all martyrs would face. Perhaps he should follow in the path of his teacher, Logarius, and commit himself to Cainhurst and slaughter all Vileblood who eventually returned.

          Perhaps he would do many things. Perhaps, now, above all else, he needed rest.


End file.
